


Dude Looks Like A Lady

by WontGetDown



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Gen, Lady!Mackenzie, Modern AU, basically no homo sorry, homo implied though bc it's Raffles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:37:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3094400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WontGetDown/pseuds/WontGetDown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raffles talks Bunny into helping him steal a mysterious artifact with a startling side effect. Naturally, hijinks ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dude Looks Like A Lady

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 2014 Secret Santa/Yuletide entry for attorneysatlol, who wished for "lady partners-in-crime" and "Modern Raffles and Bunny and their disagreements about the merits of pop music." This translated into genderbend modern AU shenanigans, which I hope is adequate!
> 
> Please see the ending notes for further information on my modern interpretations of the characters. But basically, just imagine everyone being young and hot and you'll get the general gist of it.
> 
> Okay TTFN, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! One of my resolutions for 2015 is to write more, so hopefully you guys will get to see some of the other Raffles WIPs I have on my computer right now. I'm not going to lie, this modern AU is near and dear to my heart, so I want to write more of it even if you don't want to read it! Be prepared.

Placing my implicit faith and trust in Raffles’s thieving abilities and his assumed knowledge about the ancient artifact we were making off with, it never crossed my mind that there might be a particular reason behind said artifact being hellaciously expensive. My dear friend was notorious amongst his peers (even those unaware of his unfortunate light-fingered nature) for his pricey taste, and so I was not terribly surprised that he’d wanted to steal the jewel-encrusted hourglass, despite museum heists not being a type he frequently committed.

                “In the culture of the country where they found this artifact,” he’d murmured to me in hushed tones while maneuvering through a myriad of security precautions with an almost careless ease that left me breathless, “the hourglass is a symbol of fertility. I think because it’s meant to illustrate the proportions of an ideal woman – large hips being good for birthing, and of course the capacious bosom for providing plenty of nourishment to the child. I imagine the small waist is simply a side effect of having the first two.”

                I hadn’t said much in response to this, as always remaining on edge until we were safely back at his flat. He had a neat little private bar set up outside his kitchen, and I immediately made a beeline for this to pour myself a stiff drink. Under normal circumstances I had a horrible sweet tooth, preferring fruity and elaborately decorated drinks with a minimum of alcohol flavor; however, after any outing with my celebrated cricketer companion, I needed a steadying beverage to get me through the rest of the night.

                “It’s so… sparkly,” Raffles said, a slight air of distaste coloring his tone. I didn’t pay it much heed – this was a recent development with him. He’d set his eye on something, make off with it, and then find it wasn’t quite as fascinating once he had it as it was when someone else had been in possession of the thing. I felt that in this regard, he strongly resembled a cat. (He was like a cat in other ways as well – his fastidious attention to personal appearance and grooming, for example. For Raffles to have a hair out of place was a sure sign of something being horribly wrong.)

                “So, what are we going to do with it?” I asked. “By morning, the police and the general public will be well aware that it’s missing, so we can’t sell it.”

                “ _You_ can’t sell it,” Raffles was quick to clarify. “I, on the other hand, know the right people who won’t ask the wrong questions.”

                “Ah. Yes. Of course.” It was always nice to be perpetually reminded that you were not strictly necessary to the operation. “Well, it’s been a long night. I’m going home.”

                “Home? Already?” my friend inquired, turning to face me with an expression of surprise on his face. “You haven’t even taken the time to revel in our accomplishments. Here, catch.”

                I obeyed more on instinct than anything else, not quite able to believe that Raffles had just tossed a near-priceless artifact across the room at me. It had heft, but it wasn’t heavy, and the jewels did indeed seem to be almost excessively sparkly.

                “It’s nice,” I murmured dispassionately. “Too bad you’re treating it just like you treat me.”

                “What was that?” Raffles piped up from where he’d settled languidly into his favorite chair, all long legs and smug self-satisfaction. I clenched my teeth, a muscle twitching fiercely in my jaw.

                “Nothing. Just… talking to myself.”

                I set the hourglass down on the bar, letting out a sigh. _I wish you’d actually notice me, you idiot._

                As the thought crossed my mind, a sharp pain shot through one of my fingers. I drew it back with a gasp, irritated at the sight of it dripping blood. Apparently the gems on the hourglass were not only sparkly, but sharp as well.

                “Damn,” I grumbled, sticking my finger in my mouth as I went in search of my coat. “Well, goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

                “Goodnight,” Raffles called, starting to rise from his chair but settling back into it as I waved him off. “Shall I see you again tomorrow?”

                “Likely not,” I told him. “I’m going to be pretty busy. But let me know if you need me for anything.”

                “My dear Bunny, I always need you,” Raffles said. I glanced at him from where I stood with my hand on the doorknob; he had opened a book next to his chair and was already turning the pages trying to find his place. I rolled my eyes and yanked the door open, walking out of his apartment and slamming it shut behind me.

* * *

I didn’t set an alarm for the following morning, instead choosing to wake up on my own after my long night. When I did, it was one of the groggy awakenings that generally accompanies an upset sleep schedule.

                Rolling over onto my chest, I frowned as something pressed against my chest. Reaching underneath myself, I tried to shove it away. It didn’t move – and what was worse, I _felt_ myself pushing on it.

                Sitting bolt upright with a yell, I clutched at the sudden growth on my chest, which then became the less immediate of my concerns as I realized that my voice was several octaves too high. Launching myself out of bed, I rushed to the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door and gazed at myself in horror.

                Somehow, overnight, I had developed a remarkably capacious female bosom. Not only that, but my entire body was that of a woman. A startling amount of new curves were clearly visible through my silk pajamas, which had already fit snugly when I was a man and which were now almost obscenely tight. The things that had changed the least were my short blonde hair and fine facial features, the result of my Asian mother and European father. My only solace was that whatever had caused the transformation had apparently and thankfully decided that I was already short enough – my five-feet-four-inches of height another trait I could thank my mother for.

                “What… what _happened_?!” I gasped at my reflection, and was horrified to hear that my voice was slightly higher as well. I struck a hand across my own face, thinking I was stuck in some awful dream from which I couldn’t help but wake up; unfortunately, the immediately resultant pain proved that this was as real as my mounting panic attack.

                I was temporarily rescued from my own hysteria as my phone went off from where it was charging near my bed, featuring the ringtone Raffles had set up for himself after deftly decoding my passcode. Moving on instinct, I was halfway across the room to answer it when I stopped myself. I couldn’t speak to him, not in my current state. He was too perceptive; he would know something was wrong.

                Making the decision of a split second, I rushed to pick up my phone and chose the option to reject the call with a text message. My thumbs flying across the virtual keyboard, I informed Raffles that I was “xtremely busy, call u back when I can.”

                Not thirty seconds had passed before my phone buzzed with a responding text. _My dear Rabbit, you’ve never been busy before 8 AM a day in your life. Is something the matter?_

                Gritting my teeth, I shot back a terse response that read to the effect of “don’t set my schedule for me.” Social interactions of the morning complete, I tried to simultaneously calm myself and come up with a plan of action. Perhaps trying to do both at once was not ideal, but I was in no kind of mental state to rationalize my decisions.

                My first concern was regarding clothes. Having suddenly developed curves in all the wrong places for my chosen style of snug-fitting jeans and dress shirts, I effectively had nothing to wear. However, I had nowhere to be that day – a benefit of being a self-employed photographer who generally worked from home – so I put this worry to one side for now and decided to focus on trying to figure out what had happened to me.

                Smartphone still in hand, I pulled up my Google search application and started to search for anything related to sudden and mysterious overnight gender-bending. This yielded nothing immediately useful to my current situation – mostly links leading to information on transgender issues and some books about tough, strapping men who found themselves getting turned into beautiful, sexy women and having to fend off advances until they could change back and return to benchpressing twice their weight at the gym.

                “None of this _helps_ me,” I groaned, throwing myself onto my bed in despair – only to promptly bounce straight back up into a seated position as my bedroom door was hurled open.

                “Oh, my dear Rabbit!” trilled a familiar voice just a few octaves higher than what it had been the previous night. “It’s fortunate to see we’re in the same pickle. I thought as much, so I made sure to bring you some things. Apparently the hourglass and I have the same ideas about what your feminine proportions ought to be, so that’s convenient.” 

* * *

Arthur J. Raffles – a “J” which stood for a name unknown to most people, and which I had long suspected stood for “Jackass” – flounced into my bedroom and struck a shameless pose in the morning light streaming through my windows. His already impressive six feet and three inches was enhanced by the four-inch, murder-red heels he was sporting in accent to his black skinny jeans and weirdly ruffly black top.

                I squinted at him as he stood there brandishing his new feminine body and frowned. “You haven’t got the foggiest idea how women dress, have you?”

                His expression of pride and smugness dropped immediately to be replaced by that of a kicked puppy. “What? I thought this was a rather striking outfit.”

                “From the waist down, yes. But from the waist up – frankly, I don’t even want to know where you got that shirt.”

                He sniffed, clearly offended. “It’s from the closet of one of my more recent _amours_ , if you must know. A French model whose fashion taste was praised to high heaven last season. So, I don’t care what you think. _Vogue_ thinks I’m positively _rotting_ in style.” I yelped as a handful of fabric and hangers hit me in the face. “Here’s your outfit. You’ll be pleased to know that I purchased those for you, rather than robbing them from some poor woman’s boudoir. And I had the salesperson help me pick out an outfit, so hopefully your fashion sense won’t be offended. Oh,” he called after me as I went into my bathroom, “and I got you a sports bra. No sense in making things more difficult and confusing by struggling with a regular one.”

                I shucked off my pajamas and began to wriggle into the outfit he’d bought me. Black skinny jeans, apparently the same brand as his, that slid on with ease; a white shirt to go underneath a blue cashmere sweater that I suppose was meant to compliment my eyes; he’d even bought me a pair of shoes, gray ballet flats with little bows on them. Everything fit perfectly – _too_ perfectly – almost as if he had known my measurements exactly, as if he had known this would happen and how it would affect me. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I watched my eyes (which were indeed strongly accented by the sweater) narrow and take on a stormy expression.

                “RAFFLES!” I shouted, banging out of the bathroom to see him lounging on the bed. “You _knew_ this would happen! You knew before we stole the hourglass!”

                “Perceptive as always, Bunny,” he responded shamelessly, working his long black curls into a tousled braid. “Actually, I’ve encountered the hourglass and its effects once before. However, I was not able to obtain it for myself at the time, so naturally when it finally cropped up again after all these years I couldn’t help but feel entirely motivated to steal it at last. Imagine how useful this will be for our work!”

                “I don’t care to imagine it,” I responded tersely, planting a hand on one of my not-unimpressive hips before realizing the posture I’d taken and dropping the hand back to my side. “If this has happened to you before, you know how to change back, so do it. Do it _now_.”

                Raffles gazed at me with amusement. “Bunny, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be quite so demanding before in my life! Anyway, it’s not as though _I_ did this to you; you pricked your finger on one of the gems, otherwise you wouldn’t be in this condition right now. I noticed the blood after you left last night, so I knew what would happen and decided that I might as well join you.”

                I made a face at him as I walked over to check my phone, which had just notified me of a text message. “How incredibly thoughtful of y – oH my GOD! _NO!_ ”

                I could say many things about Raffles’s personality and apparent innate callousness that ran dangerously close to sociopathic tendencies, but at the very least he was quick to respond when his friends were in distress. He was at my side in a flash, his heavy braid coming very close to smacking me in the face.

                “What is it?”

                “Mackenzie,” I yowled. “We were supposed to meet here and she was going to take me out to breakfast and I _forgot_ and she’s _here right now_!”

                Raffles arched an eyebrow. “Ahhhh,” he drawled, and his lips (fuller and painted blood-red in his female form) curled up into a catlike smile. I felt like smacking it off of him, but thought better when he announced, “I can probably help with that.”

                “I’m not sure I want you to,” I responded, shooting off a text about being horribly ill and regretful that I had to cancel. Raffles gave me a wide-eyed, innocent look.

                “Why on earth not?”

                I glared at him. “Oh, you _know_ why.”

                The fact was, the relationship we had with Detective Inspector Mackenzie was a complicated one. Raffles being essentially a career criminal, and I his accomplice, it seemed unlikely that we would have become friends with the head inspector at the local police department. And yet, somehow, we had, through a combination of her running security at some of Raffles’s more high-end cricket venues and Raffles insisting in one of his fits of prison-tempting fancy that we make friends with her. This plan had backfired on him somewhat; Mackenzie and I had taken to each other quite well, while he and Mackenzie were constantly at each other’s throats. The problem therein was that Mackenzie disliked and distrusted Raffles; knowing this, he generally went out of his way to agitate her. However, I had seen this childish teasing morph into a strange kind of masochistic crush, wherein he went almost out of his way to bother her. Any results in this venture tickled him for days, while being ignored prompted a childish fit of pique that generally resulted in him dragging me off on a strictly unnecessary heist that only served to frustrate Mackenzie further.

                Regardless, I was good enough friends with the inspector that I didn’t want her to see me in my current state – not particularly from any source of shame, but rather because I didn’t know how I could explain it without linking it back to the quite obviously and recently stolen hourglass.

                “I’m going to go to _jail_ ,” I wailed, which unexpectedly resulted in Raffles laughing and tousling my hair.

                “My dear Rabbit, you’re not going to go to jail. You wouldn’t last there, you’re too pretty. Now, please, remain calm, stay out of the way, and let me handle this.”

                Before I could respond, I heard a sharp, professional knock on my front door, followed by Mackenzie’s Scottish voice. “Good morning, Bun. How sick are you? Can I come in?”

                “Stay in here,” Raffles informed me, and slipped out into the main living area of my apartment before I could say a word. Not entirely willing to do as I was told, I cracked the door a little, peeking out into my apartment. Even with the slight amount that the door was open, I still had a fairly direct line of sight to my front door, which Raffles strutted up to with absolutely zero shame and slung open.

                “Hello,” he said, and my mouth fell open. His female voice had already been deeper than mine, but he’d put some kind of edge to it just now that had made him sound criminally sultry. “And who might you be?”

                I stared from my bedroom, distinctly horrified, as he leaned against the doorframe and blocked Mackenzie’s path into my apartment. Past his tall frame I could just barely see the inspector – the only distinguishing figure I could really make out was her long, wavy dark brown hair and the occasional flash of light off her black-rimmed glasses.

                “I’m a friend of Harry Manders,” Mackenzie retorted, and I almost laughed; it was strange, hearing one of my close friends refer to me by my actual name. “I was supposed to meet him here so we could have breakfast together, but apparently he’s… sick.” This last word was uttered dubiously, and I had no doubt she was looking Raffles up and down with distaste. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”

                “You might,” Raffles purred, sliding his hip along the doorframe in a manner that was thoroughly suggestive and inappropriate. “Do you frequent the date rental services in town?”

                There was a glint as Mackenzie shoved her glasses up onto her head. “You’re telling me that the resident of this apartment _hired_ you to serve as his – his _date?”_

                “That is an affirmative,” Raffles responded. “I’m afraid he won’t be able to have breakfast with you this morning… if you know what I mean.”

                “He said he was sick,” Mackenzie persisted doggedly. “Not sleeping with someone.”

                “Most people don’t cancel on outings by explaining that they are sleeping with someone,” Raffles retorted. I groaned to myself, recognizing the signs – Mackenzie was born to have the absolute last word, and Raffles would die before he lost an argument. If they kept going like this, Mackenzie would recognize him, and then I would have some serious explaining to do.

                “He – er, _she’s_ just a friend, Mackenzie,” I called, trying to make my voice sound as deep as possible. “Not – not a callgirl, haha. I’m really not feeling too good, but I promise I’ll be better soon. Sorry I didn’t let you know earlier!”

                “Well… alright,” Mackenzie grumbled. “But you’d better make it up to me later.”

                “Haha, consider it done! I promise!”

                “Bye now,” Raffles purred at her, and proceeded to slam the door in her face.

                “That was unnecessarily stressful,” I announced immediately. “I want to change back. _Now_.”

                “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” my friend explained. “I left the hourglass back at my apartment. I’m not foolish enough to go toting stolen property around in the middle of the day, rabbit. Besides, why don’t we _enjoy_ this?” He slung his arm through mine, a remarkable feat considering how much taller he was than me (especially in his heels). “We could go day drinking. Flirt with some boys! Flirt with girls too, if you like. I’m not picky.”

                There was only one person I was interested in flirting with, and right now I was about to choke on whatever overpowering perfume he’d drenched himself in. Pushing him away, I snapped,

                “No. Raffles, I helped you take the stupid thing, the least you can do is help me turn back to the way I was.”

                He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Alright, _fine_. I suppose you have a valid point. Come along, then, my car’s just outside.”

* * *

I awoke with a panicked start, my hand flying immediately to my chest. It was flat, and a frantic glance revealed that I was wearing my own clothes.

                “Calm down,” a familiar voice told me, and I glanced over to see Mackenzie behind the steering wheel of the car we were in. “You keep going to sleep and waking up ten minutes later. If you’re not up to this – ”

                “No, it’s alright,” I protested, sitting up and rubbing at my eyes. Mackenzie was driving me to a police photoshoot they’d hired me for, but it was a good 2 hours away and I’d been trying to take a nap on the way. “Sorry, it’s just – you know. Being sick and all.”

                “Well, at least you had a quick recovery,” she responded wryly. I made a noise of agreement, accompanied by a nervous chuckle as I thought back on what I’d really been doing.

                Once he’d had me in his car, Raffles had promptly driven to a club downtown, where he’d spent the next three hours dancing and flirting with everyone who seemed remotely interested. Meanwhile, I had spent the same three hours sitting at the bar and silently fuming while I fended off advances from seemingly every man (and a few women) in attendance. By the time Raffles finally saw fit to drive us back to his apartment, I’d been rather miffed off and slightly drunk.

                The rest of the day had been rather uneventful; Raffles had instructed me that we both had to prick our fingers on the gems again, and the effects of the hourglass would be reversed. However, he’d also mentioned that the change would not take place until we were in a deep sleep. As it turns out, when you’re concerned about whether or not your accustomed anatomy will return overnight, it’s difficult to accomplish a deep sleep. Fortunately, after a couple hours of restlessness, exhaustion kicked in and the hourglass worked its magic, leaving me able to wake up and call Mackenzie to let her know I would be able to make the photoshoot after all.

                “Actually, I did have one question for you,” Mackenzie mentioned offhandedly, bringing me back to the present.

                “Yes?” I responded cautiously. I considered her my friend, but I always had a lurking concern that she would inquire after a theft that Raffles and I had been a part of. Giving her an uncomfortable side-eye, I took a sip from the bottle of water I’d brought with me.

                “Why was Raffles at your place the other day, dressed like a woman and pretending to be a prostitute?”

                I choked on the water I’d just swallowed. While I was still trying to dislodge it from my windpipe, Mackenzie pulled the car smoothly into a parking space and unbuckled her seatbelt.

                “I mean, no judging or anything. I support you in whatever. But Raffles is no good, Bun. I can smell it from a mile away.”

                “He’s - ” I could not in all honesty, to myself or others, call Raffles _good_. “He’s very… charismatic?”

                Mackenzie snorted. “Mm-hmm. C’mon, we’re burning daylight. And I know how you hate anyone else touching your cameras, so get out of the car and tell me what I’m allowed to carry.”

                As I hastened to follow her orders, a small smile slipped across my lips. She was absolutely right, of course – A.J. Raffles was a bad influence. But he was _my_ bad influence, and that made all the difference in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> MODERN AU CHARACTER NOTES: I tried to cover some of this in the body of the piece, but I wanted to post the descriptions at the end anyway for future reference.
> 
> Harry “Bunny” Manders - Platinum blonde hair that he puts a lot of styling gel in to compensate for a total lack of facial hair. His mother was Asian and his father was European, so he got his mother’s tiny stature (5’4” and pissed off about it, works out a lot but it doesn’t really show) and fine facial features (K-pop pretty boy level) and his father’s VERY EUROPEAN European-ness (blonde hair, blue eyes, incessant drive to prove himself). Number One Homosexual, Very Gay. Photographer for a living, has a pretty big following on Instagram. Likes to drink hard alcohol to Prove He Is A Man but has trash tolerance.
> 
> Arthur J[ackass]. Raffles - Fly and also bi as hell. Tall (6’3” easy) and lean with legs for days. World-renowned cricket star who is so good at the sport he actually finds it kind of boring now. Mainly uses it as a cover to disguise his Life of Crime™. Black hair that does NOT curl naturally though he will argue it does to the grave; Bunny has heard him make appointments for his man perm though. Knows Bunny likes him, thinks he's cute but won't get in a relationship with him because he doesn't wanna break the guy's heart. Loves that Mackenzie hates him and is probably nursing some kind of masochistic crush. Thinks Mackenzie is hella hot and tries to get that going, mostly because he knows it won't happen in a million years. (part of him hopes, though. part of him hopes to high heaven. he has a mad crush that he's not particularly willing to admit) Will not tell anyone what his middle initial stands for. Not even the government knows (Mackenzie checked). Models when he’s not cricketing and has a vibrant social life that reaches from the height of modern society to the down-and-dirtiest blacklight clubs in the city. 
> 
> Inspector Mackenzie - Long, thick, wavy brown Esmerelda hair with an undercut (pushes it to one side or the other of her head), brown island-girl skin w/ smattering of darker freckles. Very tech-savvy, has the newest of everything. Big horror movie buff. Kill-a-man eyeliner wings and murderously stylish black glasses. 5’ 9”, lean figure and impressive rack. Distrusts Raffles and despises him with the burning passion of ten thousand imploding supernovas. Would probably kill him if she wasn’t a cop. Very good (girl)friends with Bunny, gives him lots of unwarranted dating advice (mostly "don't date Raffles").


End file.
